


Heart on My Sleeve

by CleverSnail



Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleverSnail/pseuds/CleverSnail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bad Cop needs new clothes. Badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart on My Sleeve

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Spoilers for Space Between Us, especially Part 12
> 
> (Set in the weeks immediately following Space Between Us)
> 
> This drabble was inspired by a recent HC session with the fantabulous gaylegohell. Almost all of the first several lines of dialogue are hers. I’m grateful to her for allowing me to use them.

B’s been living at Benny’s apartment for four and a half weeks—ostensibly to help him navigate his recovery, but Benny’s pretty sure he’s here to stay—before Benny realizes B owns exactly one tee shirt. It’s black, or rather it was, long ago. It’s faded now and soft, part of the hem has torn away at the bottom and there’s a hole under the left armpit. And day after day when B comes in from work, it’s off with the police uniform and on with the tee shirt and an equally ancient pair of fatigue pants. From one uniform to another, really.

They’re watching the six o’clock news one rainy night when Benny decides to bring it up. It’s PT day, and his therapist pushed him hard. He’s got a big bag of ice on his shoulder and a Vicodin in his belly. He’s feeling bold. He leans back into the cushions, watches B polish off his bottle of beer.

“We should go shopping, B. Fix you up with a pair of jeans.”

B glances down at his fatigues. “Shopping? Why?” He sounds genuinely puzzled.

“Never underestimate how good a new pair of jeans can make you feel, Chief.”

Benny watches the ghost of a smile play across B’s lips. The nickname is new. He seems to like it.

But then he exhales loudly, tips the last drops of beer into his mouth. “Ben, I haven’t worn jeans since…” he fixes his gaze just above the tv for a few moments, “…well, no idea really. Must have been ages ago. Can’t recall.”

“When was the last time you even bought clothes for yourself?”

B furrows his brow in concentration, then looks up, triumphant. “Two years ago. I ordered three dress shirts through the Department.” He pauses, considering, and grimaces. “That’s a bit pitiful, isn’t it?”

“It kind of is.” The ice pack slips forward. Benny hikes it back up onto his shoulder and winces. “Please tell me you’ve been buying underwear at least.”

“‘Course.”

“Good.”

“I get those at the drugstore.”

Benny massages his temples. “Oh Jesus. We’re going to the mall, B. C’mon.”

***

It’s a crutches day. Benny’s knee has been acting up in the cold. But he hardly notices the twinges as he navigates through the mall, B double-timing it to keep up. Benny pauses outside a storefront featuring headless mannequins striking anatomically impossible poses.

“Let’s go in here.” Benny limps into the store without waiting for a reply.

“These clothes are a bit…loud,” B mutters, leaning over Benny’s ear as Benny thumbs briskly through a rack of shirts near the front.

“Nonsense,” says Benny. He holds up a fluorescent plaid button-down and nods aggressively, flashing his best grin.

B looks stricken. “Absolutely not.”

“Maybe we should start more basic, huh? Jeans, a few collared shirts…and new underwear.” The Vicodin is still humming away in Benny’s veins and he spins on his heel. “This way.” And off he charges into the depths of the men’s department.

“What size pants do you wear, B?” There’s silence behind him, so he stops, turns, cocks his head.

B’s settled into that blank look he favors when he’s heard something incomprehensible. And he’s clearly overwhelmed. So Benny waits.

B shakes his head and shrugs. “Large?”

“Do you know your waist size? Inseam?”

“It’s on file at the station.”

Benny scrubs at the back of his head. “All you wear is your uniform and those beat-up fatigues. You work out, Chief. You look _great_. Why don’t you show it off?”

B swings his eyes away and Benny knows he’s overstepped. This is their daily dance. Benny pushes gently until B retreats. Then Benny pulls back, waits for B to come up and meet him again. But there’s a pain here Benny isn’t expecting to see and it worries him. What has he blundered into? B’s struggling openly. Benny quickly angles him so his back is to the other shoppers in the section. His eyes are firmly planted on the floor.

“Hey listen,” Benny says softly, “we can go if you want—”

“I never wanted to draw attention. Tried to fly under the radar. Safer that way.”

The broken look on B’s face makes Benny’s stomach drop. He doesn’t know what this is. But it’s bad. “B, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“For all the goddamned good it did. He just took whatever he wanted from me anyway.”

Silence settles heavily between them. It takes Benny a second to understand. Then he’s engulfed in a wave of anger. Lord Business. It always comes back to him. Always. They’re never free. His poison still leaches into their lives, no matter how hard they try to move on. Benny’s furious at Business, furious at himself for unknowingly kicking the hornet’s nest. Blood roars in his ears as he tries to compose himself.

“This was such a shitty idea, B. I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “You wear whatever makes you comfortable. I didn’t think. I just didn’t think. So stupid.”

“Can we go home?” B asks in a measured monotone. He still hasn’t looked up from the floor.

“Yes. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

***

The elevator doors slide open at the twelfth floor and Benny wobbles out into the sunlit hallway. PT twice a week is kicking his ass. He’s a knot of pain when he finally shuffles up to his apartment door, fantasizing about Vicodin and a hot bath. Simple pleasures. He unlocks the door and steps inside gingerly, every nerve in his damned busted leg thrumming.

Suddenly, he’s on alert. The lights are on. Benny checks his watch. Early for B to be home from work. Any break in B’s routine is unsettling.

“B?” he calls.

“Hey.”

“You okay? Home early, huh?” Benny limps into the living room, his heart hammering.

He finds B in his favorite leather chair, calmly reading the newspaper. Benny stops dead in the middle of the room. B’s wearing a slick new pair of jeans. They fit him perfectly.

“Wow. _Wow._ ”

B peeks coyly over the top of the paper. “Lucy helped,” he admits, properly penitent, but Benny can still hear the smile in his voice.

“Holy hell,” Benny whistles. “They look _great_. Boy, do they ever.”

B folds the paper with a flourish, tosses it onto the couch and stands, grinning.

Benny’s breath catches in his throat.

“My God, B.,” he whispers. “You kept it.”

The tee shirt’s blue, with the insignia of the space agency emblazoned across the front. And beneath it, in smaller type, _Project Vega 2019_.

“‘Course I did. You gave it to me.” B crosses the room to where Benny stands, hand over his mouth. “Wouldn’t give it away for the world, Ben.” He gathers Benny into his arms, carefully avoiding all Benny’s sore spots. He’s memorized them all.

Benny shakes his head. “Jesus, B. You’re something else.”

“You need someone to keep you on your toes.” B teases gently.

Benny presses his ear hard against B’s chest, listens to his heart beat once, twice, three times.

“I do.” Benny agrees. “And I’m glad it’s you.”


End file.
